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being alone isn’t the same thing as being lonely, but sometimes it feels like they’re exactly the same thing.
The truth is I’m not really good at talking to new people. I’m not really good at talking to people, period.
Same
Having fun with lots of other people isn’t an easy thing for me to do, especially when it’s with people I don’t feel comfortable around.
I want to get away. I want to start over, so I can figure out who I really am and where I fit into the world. Someday I’d like to feel comfortable enough around people to actually say the things I want to say. I’d like to look around and not feel like I’m the outsider. I’d like a life that just feels calm.
I draw a girl with arms that reach up to the clouds, but all the clouds avoid her because she’s made of night and not day.
And I guess if we couldn’t feel white in school, we wanted to at home. So the three of us fought for the title of “Most Caucasian-looking of the Himura Children.” Mom always found our game amusing. Sometimes she’d even play along and point out which of our features looked more Asian and which were—as she’d often call it—more “normal-looking.”
That’s so sad
It’s draining thinking about so many things all at once, and even more draining to be around so many people. I don’t know how other people do it—don’t they ever feel like they need to recharge? Doesn’t talking to people for so long wear them out?
Literally me I relate so much
I draw five humans and one skeleton, and it doesn’t matter that the skeleton has all the right bones and joints—he will never be the same as the others because he doesn’t have the right skin.
I look up and see his concern. Because he knows. He knows, and he still left the three of us with her. I know I should probably hate him for leaving, but when I look at Dad, I don’t see someone I’m capable of hating.
So sad
Why? they’re thinking. Why do you always have to make everything worse? But it’s not me. Why doesn’t anyone else ever see it? I’m not asking for the world—I just want to be heard, by the one person who is supposed to listen.
Aww my heart
She can’t be the villain if she’s the victim.
Why would she do this? She knows he’s a total creep. She knows what he did to me. How could she let him back into this house knowing what he’s really like?
This is so fucked up
“Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Max, but if we’re all going to be living together you need to—” she starts. “You do know,” I interrupt angrily. “You know exactly what happened.” “No,” she corrects. “I know your side of the story.” My shoulders shake violently. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?” She lets out a sigh. “I’m not saying that. I’m not saying anything, really. I just think you were very young when this ‘event’ happened”—she scratches the air with her fingers—“and maybe it’s not fair to put so much blame on Max.”
I can’t believe this really? You don’t believe your own daughter?????
“Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Max, but if we’re all going to be living together you need to—” she starts. “You do know,” I interrupt angrily. “You know exactly what happened.” “No,” she corrects. “I know your side of the story.” My shoulders shake violently. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?” She lets out a sigh. “I’m not saying that. I’m not saying anything, really. I just think you were very young when this ‘event’ happened”—she scratches the air with her fingers—“and maybe it’s not fair to put so much blame on Max.”
Wtf? I’m shocked!!!
“Who else gets the blame? Me?” I ask with a knot in my throat. “Kiko, would you please stop making this so difficult. I mean, it’s not like he did anything that horrible to you.” WHAT I WANT TO SAY: “It’s disgusting that you’d actually make excuses about what your brother did to your own daughter. It’s disgusting that you’re questioning whether I’m even telling the truth. It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.” WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY: “Get out of my room, Mom. Get out!”
I can’t fucking believe her mum just said that! What a fucking bitch
I asked her once what her tattoos meant, and she told me art doesn’t have to mean anything—it can just be pretty.
“I don’t think that’s it.” Besides, even if Mom was bipolar, that’s not an excuse. There are plenty of parents in the world with mental health conditions who don’t treat their children badly.
“You didn’t get in,” Mom blurts out before I get the chance to read anything at all.
What a fucking dick I can’t believe that
I keep picturing Mom’s face. It was like she knew I wasn’t going to get in. She knew and I didn’t, and she might as well have stabbed me in the heart because that’s how it felt to see how she knew.
“You care too much about what other people think. I mean, so what if you fail? So what if it takes a few tries? You’re following your dreams. It shouldn’t matter to anyone else how long it takes you or what your journey is like—it should just matter to you.”
“How did you not know they were forever? Isn’t that like saying you didn’t know ice cream was cold?” I raise my eyebrows.
Again—she wants to be there as long as it fits into her schedule. I don’t know what to call that, but I certainly wouldn’t call it “wanting to be around.”
It’s strange—hope can make you forget so much, so quickly. That’s why hoping is so dangerous.
I swallow the painful lump in my throat. I don’t like Uncle Max. It’s not a secret. But why I don’t like him is a secret to everyone except my parents. The point is, she knows. She knows and she doesn’t care. Be nice. Like I’m the one she needs to worry about.
“Can I ask you something?” Jamie reaches his hand across his chest and scratches his neck. When I nod, he asks, “What do you see when you look at pictures of yourself?” I swallow. Someone who looks too Asian to be pretty. Because being Asian means I can never be as pretty as the other girls at school—the girls like Mom. I know this because people like Henry and Adam and Mom keep telling me I don’t have the right face. I know this because when I look in the mirror, I see what they see—a girl who doesn’t belong here. A girl who isn’t good enough.
This is so sad
party.” When I reach my car door, I realize Jamie’s followed me. He looks confused, and of course he is. Normal people don’t need to prepare for social interactions. Normal people don’t panic at the sight of strangers. Normal people don’t want to cry because the plan they’ve processed in their head is suddenly not the plan that’s going to happen.
Mom leans forward. “Are you gaining weight?” I blink. “What?” Her blue eyes are full of very real concern. “I don’t want you to get upset, but your face is looking rounder than usual. Now that you don’t have to walk around school, I’m wondering if maybe you aren’t getting enough exercise. It’s important, you know. For your health.” “I’ve only been out of school for a week. I doubt my face is rounder after seven days of not walking to class.” My words are all right, but my voice is shaking so bad I’m positive she’s never going to hear them. I close my arms around myself protectively. “Don’t be
...more
This is awful
Shoji feels what I feel—the urgency to get away. Because being around Mom is like swimming in poison. It kills your soul, slowly, bit by bit.
Mom’s boiling over with energy, and she’s trying to shove it down our faces like she is with the Italian food. “You know, I sacrificed a lot to have children. Being a mother is truly one of the most selfless jobs you can do.”
Jesus Christ. The nerve of this botch trying to act like a good mother. When we know damn well she is shit
“I know you’ll laugh if I say this, but I’m really an amazing person.” I do laugh. And I press my fingers against my eyes because I don’t know what is going on right now. “Good for you, Mom. I have no opinion on this.” “Yes you do,” she snaps. “That’s why you want to get out of the house so badly. Because you hate me. It’s almost like you’re jealous of me.”
She is delusional
“You know, if someone is going to be mad at you just because you didn’t let them have their way, you’re better off without them.”
“We all have to dream our own dreams. We only get one life to live—live it for yourself, not anyone else. Because when you’re on your deathbed, you’re going to be wishing you had. When everyone else is on theirs, I guarantee they aren’t going to be thinking about your life.”
I want to tell her that staying to take care of us is sort of the deal you make when you have children. I want to tell her that I resent her because of Uncle Max and not Dad. I want to tell her I don’t want to talk about any of this because I’m trying to get out of the black hole she keeps sucking me back into.
Have I replaced her with Jamie? Have I gone from depending on one person to depending on another?
Yeah you definitely have
When I look back up his eyes are soft and his lips are parted, and then I understand. He doesn’t need to share his feelings—he needs the company. Because sometimes when the world doesn’t make sense, it just feels better if there’s someone around to make it a little less lonely.
“Beauty isn’t a single thing. Beauty is dreaming—it’s different for everyone, and there are so many versions of it that you mostly have no control over how you see it.
Looking out at the ocean, I don’t know how anyone could be anything but lonely. There’s nothing out there to see—just water and space. But it feels good. If lonely can ever be something good, this is it. This is Kiko at peace with the world. This is Kiko not in the middle of a raging war with her mother. This is Kiko just being Kiko.
“At his funeral, I overheard some people referring to him as ‘Starfish.’ I asked them why they gave him that nickname, and they told me it was because he always had to be the center of attention. Like the legs of a starfish, all pointing to the middle. He thought he was the center of all things.” Hiroshi laughs.
But some people are just starfish—they need everyone to fill the roles that they assign. They need the world to sit around them, pointing at them and validating their feelings. But you can’t spend your life trying to make a starfish happy, because no matter what you do, it will never be enough. They will always find a way to make themselves the center of attention, because it’s the only way they know how to live.”
Hiroshi pulls himself away from the balcony and places a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t live to please the starfish, especially when their happiness is at the expense of yours. That is not love. That is narcissism. There’s an entire ocean out there, Kiko—swim in it.”
I sit up irritably. This is the proverbial straw that broke the relationship between Mom and Uncle Max. Clothes and cigarettes. Not what happened when I was a kid. Not what happened a few weeks ago.
I text Mom pictures of all my newest sketches as soon as I hang up the phone. I can’t help myself—I get hopeful and excited over the possibility of Mom thinking I’ve done well at something. Five hours pass. I paint with Hiroshi. I get coffee with Jamie. I sketch on his parents’ balcony. Mom never writes back.
Of course she wouldn’t
I wish she had made room for me. I wish she had tried to fit me in, even if I didn’t match the rest of her house. Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do? Try?
I’ve always felt out of place, but I’ve never realized quite how much until this exact moment, when I feel completely in place.
I don’t have to be white to be beautiful, just like I don’t have to be Asian to be beautiful. Because beauty doesn’t come in one mold.
I draw five Japanese women with very different faces, but all of them are equally beautiful because beauty is not just one thing.
Click. Jamie’s face is once again obscured by the camera lens. I cross my eyes and make my nostrils flare. Click. He laughs, and I do too. “I’m going to keep that one forever,” he says. “Forever is a long time to keep a silly picture of me,” I say. “It’s not the picture.” His voice is gentle. “It’s the memory. I want to remember you forever, Kiko Himura.” I don’t say a word. I’m too busy glowing.
“No.” He takes my face in his hands. “I won’t let her ruin today for you. I won’t.” Jamie presses his lips against mine so desperately that I don’t have time to take a breath, and I end up exhaling into his mouth. He pulls away just an inch—just enough for the air to move between us. Our breathing is so fast it sounds like we’ve been running for miles. I close my hands over his wrists, his palms still cupped under my jaw. He swallows. I can hear it. And he kisses me again, this time softer, but with the same hunger as before.
Yess kiko deserves this I’m so happy
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m thinking the worst. God, if it’s the worst, please tell me, because I will literally kill him.” I catch my breath and laugh a little. “I would never let you go to jail for me.” “I wouldn’t get caught. I’ve been binge watching cop shows with my dad—there are ways.”
Aww my little heart
Mayumi shows us how to fold them. I make a mistake and mine ends up with a slight bend in the wing. Jamie notices and bends his wing on purpose. He says it’s so ours can match.
Goals honestly so sweet
